


The Newlywed Game

by biblionerd07



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cas likes chunky peanut butter, Emotional Constipation, Established Relationship, M/M, Sam's stuck in the middle, Some Fluff, Some angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-15
Updated: 2014-04-15
Packaged: 2018-01-19 11:18:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1467559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biblionerd07/pseuds/biblionerd07
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It seemed anticlimactic that the Newlywed Game was what made them finally call it quits.  Dean doesn't deal with the fallout as well as he thought he would.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Newlywed Game

They’d been through Hell together, Purgatory, Heaven; they’d dealt with betrayal on both sides and one becoming an abomination and the other becoming human (twice); it seemed anticlimactic that the Newlywed Game was what made them finally call it quits.

Dean knew, really, that it wasn’t the game—if a stupid game could cause that much damage, there had to have already been fault lines. And it wasn’t like he _hadn’t_ known the cracks had been there; they’d both known, but neither had known how to fix it.

Dean had been on edge all day, since getting the invitation to play. He bristled at the name of the game, at the implication that the name of the game could somehow apply to _them_ , even if it was only Sam and the new girl he was living with—Lindsey, who was smart and funny and proving herself pretty capable with a shotgun—to hear it. He hadn’t explained his caginess to Cas, instead choosing to work out his feelings with snippiness and stony silence that made Cas clench his teeth and stay away.

They’d agreed, when they’d decided to try this, to stop dancing around one another, that they would _communicate_ and _open up_ and similar things Dean knew healthy relationships were supposed to contain, thanks to TV shows and no thanks to any examples of relationships in his own life. But finding words was _hard_ and Dean was tired and cranky and didn’t feel like it.

It wasn’t fair, really, to be playing this game that based your score on how well you knew superficial things like _his favorite color_ or _movie that always makes him cry_ when Cas didn’t even have answers for most of the categories. There was no category to test your knowledge of your partner’s preferred method of killing (smiting, while mojo-ed up, and angel blade if not) or least favorite monster (Leviathan, for obvious reasons) or favorite type of sex (face-to-face, regardless of who was top or bottom, with gentle, slow kisses and warm breaths between them).

It didn’t help that Cas knew all the answers to the dumb questions about Dean, because that just made Dean look like an asshole who didn’t care. And again, it was just Sam and Lindsey, and they _knew_ why Dean didn’t know any of the answers, but by the time Dean’s sullen mood had ruined the night for everyone and he’d stomped out to the car, he was fuming.

Cas didn’t even bother to try talking to him on the ride back to the bunker, his jaw tight and his face tipped toward the window, and his silence continued once they went inside. He went to the kitchen and began jerkily washing the dishes they’d both been ignoring for days in surly declaration that the other deal with it.

“Want to watch a movie?” Dean asked. “I won’t try to pick for you, since I don’t know anything you like.” The snarl was the only invitation Cas needed for an argument, and he was happy to accentuate his mood by slamming a pot against the side of the sink.

“Why the _hell_ does everything have to be so hard?” Cas demanded. “Why can’t you just have fun?”

“Oh, coming from the guy who spent a few thousand years with a stick up his ass?” Dean snorted derisively.

“Excuse me for not having a favorite movie.” Cas said snottily. “Considering I’ve only seen _Die Hard_ four times and _Tremors_ once, I don’t have much to base my preference of human cinema on.”

“And excuse me for not realizing you remember every fucking word I’ve ever said.” Dean shot back. It was a weak insult, since Dean had mentioned how important that very fact made him feel more than once.

“It was just a game,” Cas said, exasperated. “Sam and Lindsey were the only people there. No one could _assume_ anything about you, however true it may be.”

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. I just know how much you hate it when people realize we’re together.”

The argument quickly devolved, as their arguments always did, into their past misdeeds, ranging from the really serious ( _you were going to beat me to death before the mind control broke!_ ) to the absolutely ridiculous ( _you always put the toilet paper roll on backwards!_ ) and ended with Dean hurling a shot glass across the room and stalking out in disgust. Cas slept in the room that used to be his, before they’d started sharing, and Dean hated how big the room felt even though he’d never say anything.

When he stumbled into the kitchen the next morning, Cas had made coffee, like he always did. Cas was sitting at the table, staring into the depth of his mug, and Dean took a seat across from him. Cas looked up and Dean could see strain all over his face.

“I think I should go stay with Sam and Lindsey for a while.” His voice was calm and steady but his hand was shaking a bit when he raised the mug to his lips. Dean didn’t know what he was supposed to say, so he didn’t say anything.

“Do you have anything to say to that?” Cas asked. He wasn’t petulant; he just sounded tired, and Dean suddenly felt like he couldn’t breathe. At least when Cas was petulant Dean knew he was still fighting. Now he just sounded resigned.

“If that’s what you want to do.” Dean said. He could hear how tight his voice was. Cas looked like he was almost in pain.

“Can you give me a reason not to?” Cas asked. His voice was still even, but his eyes were almost begging. Dean looked away. A reason not to leave? _I love you. I’m sorry. I’m stupid. I need you._

“No.” Dean said, still not looking at Cas. This was what happened in relationships. You gave it your best and eventually it ended. It was nothing to be upset about. He got up and started calmly washing dishes. He didn’t say anything when Cas went to their room and reemerged with a duffle bag. He didn’t say anything when Cas paused in the kitchen for a minute. He didn’t say anything when he heard Cas leave and close the door quietly behind him.

Dean finished the dishes and wiped down the counters and the table. He rearranged the spices in the cabinet. He looked through the fridge and wrote _milk_ on the shopping list that hung on the fridge door with a magnet. He realized Cas wasn’t going to see _milk_ and argue about what kind of milk, and he picked up the pad of paper and threw it onto the ground. He ripped every stupid magnet off the fridge. He crumpled up a drawing Sam had doodled of Dean and Cas. Then he thought about how Cas was going to cool off and come back and give him a disapproving look when he saw the mess, so he picked up every magnet and put it back on the fridge. He smoothed out the drawing and put it back under the cat magnet.

Dean was not going to call Cas. It had been two days and so far Cas had not calmed down enough to call him or come back. Who _was_ talking to Dean was Sam, and Sam was talking a lot.

_Are you gunna call Cas?_  
 _Dean, you should talk to him_  
 _Whatever happened couldn’t have been that bad!!!!_  
 _Dinner tomorrow?_  
 _Come on_  
 _Just come_

But Dean didn’t go to dinner, and he didn’t call Cas. It was a two-way street, he reasoned. Cas could always call him, too. And then two days turned into a week, and then two weeks, and then Sam was picking up the stuff Cas had left at the bunker and giving Dean disapproving, sad puppy looks, which Dean ignored.

“Have you at least showered since he left?” Sam asked, nose wrinkled.

“Of course I have.” Dean said stubbornly, though when he thought about it he wasn’t quite sure when his last shower had been.

“Why don’t you just call him?” Sam’s voice was pained and sympathetic and any minute he was going to burst into tears. Dean shrugged.

“He’s the one who left.” Dean pointed out. “Like always.”

“Didn’t he tell you why?”

“Did he tell you?” Dean asked.

“No, he hasn’t told me anything.” Sam’s face showed he wasn’t lying, but that _feelings_ look wouldn’t go away and it was making Dean’s head hurt.

“Sam, I’m fine. Take him his stuff. I don’t even care.” Dean turned away as he said it, throwing the last shoe into the box.

“This is stupid!” Sam burst out. “You’re breaking up without even talking to each other!”

“What’s there to talk about?” Dean said with another nonchalant shrug, pretending his face hadn’t crumpled at the phrase _breaking up_. Sam huffed, annoyed, and took the two boxes of Cas’s stuff. Dean took a shower.

Two days later, Cas finally called, and Dean grinned triumphantly. He knew if he held out long enough he’d win.

“I’m getting a place.” Cas said steadily. “Of my own.” Dean tried to suck in a breath silently, but it was really hard because his lungs didn’t seem to be working.

“Oh.” He managed to say without gasping. There was a pause.

“Do you have anything to say about it?” Cas asked, and there was a hint of anger in his voice. Dean felt his own anger starting to rise. What was he supposed to say? Cas just called up after two weeks and said he really was moving out and not coming back and he wanted to know Dean’s opinion on the matter?

“No.” Dean said petulantly. He heard Cas sigh.

“Alright then.” Cas’s voice was quiet. “I’m sorry it ended up this way.”

“Take care of yourself, Cas.” Dean said breezily, like he didn’t feel like he was being repeatedly punched in the stomach. Cas was quiet for a beat before saying,

“Goodbye, Dean.”

The click of the dial tone made Dean throw his phone across the room. Destruction of property was really his go-to emotional response. He dropped his head into his hands and tugged at his hair. He could run over and grab his phone, call Cas and beg him to come back. But the thought of crawling back made his stomach twist, and he grimaced as he thought about what his father would say. Sure, his dad had moved out that one time and then come back, and there had probably been some groveling then, but they’d been _married_ , they’d had a child together. Dean and Cas were just…Dean and Cas.

Dean spent several hours in the gun range, letting the familiar scent of gunpowder soothe him. It didn’t do its job well enough, so whiskey had to finish the job. He wanted to kill something. He needed a hunt. But of course, just because he wanted one, he couldn’t see anything that looked promising. He fell into a stupor in front of a Dr. Sexy marathon. He might have cried, but it was only because Dr. Sexy preformed a very difficult surgery on a little girl right in the nick of time. It wasn’t because he’d seen this episode for the first time with Cas and it certainly wasn’t because the little girl’s father had dark hair and blue eyes and Dean hadn’t seen Cas in two weeks and they hadn’t had sex in almost a month.

On the second day, a key scraped in the lock and Dean leapt off the couch to the door, convinced Cas had come back, but it was Sam coming to check on him and Dean had been rude and growly effectively enough that Sam only stayed for an hour. Dean couldn’t take comfort, not even from Sam. He had gone from pretending he didn’t care straight to his self-loathing phase. He should have known Cas would leave. Everyone left. Hell, even Sam left.

On the fourth night, Dean took a shower and shaved and went to a bar. He thought maybe he’d pick someone up—a little rebound action couldn’t hurt. But when a perky woman came over and started flirting with him, he said, on auto-pilot,

“Sorry, sweetheart, I’m taken.”

He grimaced as she walked away, wondering if he could call her back and tell her he’d just forgotten, he really wasn’t taken, but he figured it wasn’t a good idea. He felt like shit and he didn’t want to be around anyone. He went home and drank his own whiskey until he passed out and didn’t dream about Cas.

Dean made it through a month, sometimes venturing out to bars but never picking anyone up. He refused to indulge himself in dark hair and blue eyes, but it was all he wanted. Sam proved he really could be a great brother by not holding it over Dean’s head that a bartender called Sam at 2 am to come get Dean because he was super drunk and crying and mumbling about Cas. Dean hadn’t shaved in a month. He didn’t even know where Cas was. He didn’t want to ask, and Sam proved he really could be a little shit by refusing to give in to Dean’s hints and just tell him.

“You know, he still has the same number.” Sam said casually over a salt-and-burn in the next town over.

“I’m not calling him, Sammy.” Dean decided not to play dumb.

“Why?” Sam asked desperately. “You obviously miss him.”

“Yeah, I do.” Dean admitted, surprising them both. “But I think…” He thought for a minute of how to phrase what he was thinking. If he sounded too self-loathing, Sam would just get sad and Dean didn’t think he could deal with _both_ of their emotions just then.

“He never got a chance to be human.” Dean explained. “Everything he knows, he just sort of…picked up from me. He made the choice to be human and then he didn’t really make any other choices. He should get to do that. He should be his own person.”

“Couldn’t he make choices with you?” Sam sounded like a little kid and it added more fuel to the painful burning in Dean’s chest.

“We were suffocating each other, Sammy. You know what I mean when I say that.” Dean arched an eyebrow and Sam sighed.

“I know.” He still looked sad and Dean threw an arm around his shoulders.

“It’ll be okay, Sammy.” Dean said, reaching up to ruffle Sam’s hair. It had the guaranteed effect of sidetracking any conversation.

Dean lasted another month. He stopped going to bars, knowing he wouldn’t pick anyone up and wouldn’t be any fun to be around for the other bar patrons. He became a bit of a shut-in, since he really didn’t have other friends. He dreamt of Cas every night.

Strangers in crowds often reminded Dean of Cas, so he didn’t realize at first when Cas was at the end of the aisle in the grocery store. He thought he was seeing things until Cas looked up and their eyes met. Dean tried to force himself to walk to Cas at a normal pace.

“Hi.” He said awkwardly once he got there.

“Hello, Dean.” Cas’s familiar greeting made Dean’s chest ache.

“How…how are you?” Dean stuttered. Cas was holding two different types of peanut butter in his hands, apparently deciding between the two.

“I’ve been well.” Cas said cautiously. Dena couldn’t blame him for being wary, not after the way things had ended. “How are you?” Cas added, and the way he looked Dean over reminded Dean that Cas wasn’t saying it just as a pleasantry, because Cas didn’t know he was supposed to. But maybe he’d learned. It had been two months, after all. _Maybe someone else taught him_ , a traitorous voice in Dean’s head whispered. But somehow he knew it wasn’t true. Cas would have no shortage of people—men and women—wanting him, but Cas would need more than two months.

“I’ve been…” _Fine_ was on the tip of his tongue, but Cas was standing there, and his eyes were so blue and his hair was messy and his long, slender fingers were weighing two jars of peanut butter and Dean suddenly found himself blinking back tears. “I’m a mess.” He said truthfully, and Cas looked up quickly from his squinting perusal of the ingredients.

“Dean?” Cas took a step closer to him, looking concerned.

“It’s been hard, Cas.” Dean wasn’t even entirely sure what he was talking about, but it didn’t matter. _Everything_ was hard without Cas.

“I know.” Cas murmured. He had finally chosen—Jif, and chunky, not creamy—and put one jar in his cart and one back on the shelf. His now-empty hands twitched at his sides and Dean fought the urge to grab them.

“I should go.” Dean said quickly. If he didn’t leave right then, he was going to touch Cas. He could feel it building in his fingers. His chest felt tight.

“Dean.” Cas touched his shoulder and Dean exhaled loudly. “I miss you.” Cas admitted.

“Cas.” Dean looked around, not sure what he was looking for, biting his lip. “I know—you deserve your space. To be…you.”

“To find myself?” Cas quirked a grin and Dean’s lips itched with the urge to kiss him. Dean shrugged and Cas smiled a little. “I know who I am, Dean. As a human.”

“Yeah?” Dean tried not to get too hopeful, but he could see the way Cas’s eyes kept flicking down to his lips and he could still read Cas’s face, after the months and the fights that had separated them, and Cas wanted him as much as he wanted Cas.

“I miss you.” Cas repeated softly. “I know who I am now, and I know what I like. I know what I want.”

“You want me?” Dean couldn’t believe that dumb sentence came out of his mouth, much less the emotion behind it. Cas took his hand off Dean’s shoulder and held his face.  
  
“I want you.” He confirmed. Dean didn’t care that there were tears in his eyes and he didn’t care that they were in the middle of the grocery store; he closed the distance between them and kissed Cas. It was like air to a drowning man, something he’d been sure he’d never get again, and it didn’t matter that he was shaking a little because Cas was coming home. He took a shuddery breath when they parted and saw Cas’s eyes were shining, too, and they both laughed a little because they were crying and kissing in front of the peanut butter.

“I have a favorite movie now.” Cas teased, and Dean laughed out loud.

“You want to show it to me?” Dean suggested. Cas’s smile went even wider, his eyes soft, and he nodded.

“I don't want to lose that game ever again.”


End file.
